


A Red-Letter Day

by softly_speaking_valkyrie (orphan_account)



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Politics, Comfort, Couch Cuddles, Current Events, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor, Established Relationship, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Character, Jewish Kara Danvers, Justice Society of America (DCU), Kissing, Politics, Reaction, Romance, Social Justice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28615893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/softly_speaking_valkyrie
Summary: Kara flies back to National City across the country from the District of Columbia on January 6th 2021, back to Lena, and both unpack the effects of what transpired on Capitol Hill.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	A Red-Letter Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is a stupid fic, a stupid idea, and a stupid way to try to do anything in the wake of what transpired. This is my attempt to offer some help, some comfort to those still reeling from the events of January 6th 2021. I will answer any comments as I always do. Hopefully the content of this story outlines my thoughts of the attempted coup d'etat.
> 
> I hope this helps <3 Stay safe.

Lena peeled the layer of blue mesh and protective weave from her lover’s bodice, careful with how her surface-level wounds were. There were nothing serious at all, nothing deep cutting or impacted well within her near-impenetrable skin. But she had been as roughed up as those she had defended during the summer of ’20. Only six days into the new year and Lena was almost gently weeping as she layered back the blue suit to dab the blood from Kara’s scuff. The television continued to speak for them, the blonde Kryptonian a little more than lost for words as she leaned left onto the arm of the sofa.

The scarlet of her cape lay discarded across the floor of their living space; Supergirl had ripped it off of her suit as soon as she had touched down back on the balcony.

The District of Columbia had been near pitch black when she’d left the steps of the Capitol, and in National City the sun was still high in the sky, only showing the first few signs that it would set – in many ways Kara Zor-El didn’t want it to. She thought the day continued to go on forever, to never end and for everyone who could to remember what they had just witnessed, either through the radio waves or on their television screens.

“Representative for Minnesota’s 5th Congressional District, Ilhan Omar, has already announced her intentions to the press and on Twitter only hours ago, to bring forth new articles of impeachment against the President following his role in sparking today’s demonstration. Representative for New York's 14th Congressional District, Alexandria Ocasio-Cotrez has already expressed her intentions to aid the impeachment articles and process - this would potentially prevent the President from running again in 2024, considering he was successfully impeached last year and yet not prosecuted by the Republican held Senate at the time...”

Kara flinched, causing her wife’s fingers to prick her scratch, digging into the already buffeted and compromised skin. While the cosmetic injuries themselves hadn’t hurt her at all as she’d been swallowed up and taken by the crowd on the Capitol’s steps and around its rear on the grounds, now they were slightly more serious. She’d been assaulted, her fortress-like skin weakened by the physical damage of hundreds of white people claiming she was attacking their revolution, their rightful attempted seizure of ‘their’ system. The last time Kara had checked, she was an American – she was a Jewish American. She had seen this before, had wept at this before.

“It wasn’t a demonstration,” she griped following a wince of pain from Lena’s fingernails digging into her scuffed up skin. Her wife pooled on another dose of the disinfectant and pressed the cloth to her side; it was the biggest of her bruises, the claw marks of peoples fingers telling notable signs on her suit where they had ripped through the material. “It was an unlawful assembly – it was a damn terrorist display...”

“There’s no way they’re going to ignore it, Kara. Not this time.”

“I saw it all, Lena,” the blonde began to tremble a little; reliving the scenes she’d gone through.

The news anchor switched to the scene, a massive display of the Capitol still fairly barren apart from guardsmen and women from the National Guard and various other security services, littering the steps of the building. Lena could see fellow members of the Society too – Courtney Whitmore with lance in hand in her blue and white, star-spangled garb atop the domed roof of the Capitol like an endless watchman standing by. Kal stood at the bottom of the steps to the entrance which had been breached in the afternoon, his cape billowing as the wind picked up and ire on his face that told a thousand messages nothing else could. Superman could condemn a sitting President with merely the expression on his bulwark face. Lena wondered if Lois felt as helpless for Superman as she did for Kara licking her tiny wounds next to her. The majority of the real damage, not just to the Justice Society, but to America was now underneath the surface, rising harder and faster to a boil than even the events of last summer had forced it. The response then had been a joke, and it now was an utter insult. Libby Lawrence flanked Kal for a moment, her own patriotic garb another now strange sight to see around the building given what had happened. The visage of red, white and blue now left a bitter taste in both Lena’s and Kara’s mouths.

Lena pressed the cloth more gently around her lover’s side, massaging her iron-clad skin roughed up by the mob and resting her cheek on her shoulder. She reached upward, kissing Kara’s cheek and reminding her she was there, Lena Luthor still existed by her side, where she always wanted to be. “I’m right here for you, Kara,” she reminded her resolutely. Her words became more worthy than the congressional ink in iron-pen.

“They’re terrorists, Lena.”

“I know, Kara. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. I’m right here,” she echoed again, shuffling closer, pressing the cloth into her lover’s skin and wrapping her free arm around her. She knew this sign, knew this side of the Jewish blonde – this kind of rushed and uncontrollable panic, from Supergirl, Lena had seen before when she’d returned from Emancipation Park in Virginia on August 12th in ’17. Kara had barely been able to speak following that display, and this same panic now gripping her voice was the exact same.

“They’re terrorists and this was an attempted coup, Lena,” Kara continued to riddle off, her hands starting to shake and her eyes widening over a layer of tears ever so just held back.

“Kara, you’re okay.”

Supergirl shot to her feet, the cloth and Lena’s hand falling from her side and her hair fraying a little as she turned on her heels. Her suit was in a total mess, the cape ripped from her shoulders and neck and discard underneath her feet like an unwanted sign of complacence in the system. She pulled at her temples, pressing her tattered blonde hair to her fair skin and closing her eyes as whatever had happened there came back behind her eyelids, forcing her to relive the terror and the unjust hypocrisy of it all. Lena darted to her own feet, her heels tripping her up until she tossed them aside with a kick of her legs, standing up to Kara a couple of inches shorter than her in her suited boots. Her fingers came to touch the crest on her bosom, the same ‘S’ crest that Kal wore standing before the steps of government protecting it from anyone else who dared to sack it. They were Americans. Lena kissed her wife’s forehead, reaching for the Star of David hanging from the chain around her neck. She pressed it to Kara’s collar, reminding her of its presence and how Lena wore it every day and had done since the blonde super had given it to her.

It brought Kara Zor-El back to life, back to National City and the United States. As chaotic as it was, they were still united.

“You’re safe here, with me,” Lena told her again, her arms snaking around the small of her lover’s back and her waist as the sun began to set beyond the tips of the skyscrapers beyond their balcony. Kara began to shed tears, cresting her head down to nuzzle under her wife’s jawline. “I’ve got you... I’m never letting you go,” she spoke softly, her Irish heritage and the twang of her accent from that land coming to the forefront of her lucid and light voice. It hit Kara like a divine wind, like a breath from God.

The brunette reached up again, planting another loving and steady kiss on her lover’s forehead, Kara reacting instantly to intercept her lips for another one. Kara’s strength had totally left her, relying fully on her wife’s as she held her back, arms wrapped around her upper back with a shouting of need. Lena became her overt support, keeping her standing, even as she stood there with her suit in pieces around her, large holes in the once-proud blue. After a moaning flinch, Lena took Kara’s lips again, kissing her deeply with all she could. She couldn’t let her go, couldn’t let anything escape her searching love.

“I promise. It’s going to be okay, Kara...” she whispered, her verdant green eyes like searchlights in the deepest of darkness. She pierced through the insidious grip that had wrapped its claws around Kara; the same hands had attempted to wrap tightly around Congress in a move of pure insurrection. It was sedition, treason, terrorism. Forty-Six was right. Lena held her wife strong, her arms still tight around the small of Kara’s back as she kissed her cheeks both in turn.

In Gaelic now she repeated her last. “ _Níl mé ag ligean duit imeacht riamh_ ,” she basically sung like a distant melody. The way her tongue and lips elegantly displayed each beautiful sound made Kara’s tears cease as she listened to her lover’s voice. It was incredibly moving.

“You’re incredible, Lena Luthor,” she softly murmured, still moving past the last of her tears.

“I’m your wife, and I love you, Kara Danvers.”

The blonde pulled away, ripping at the polymers of the blue vestments of her suit, trying to clamber out of it so she could get into something comforting. She didn’t look at her cape tattered on the floor, she didn’t want that signal anymore. “Help me out of this thing?” She asked her lover.

“How are your scrapes? What about the bullet marks?”

Kara groaned, ripping her way through the suit so she could be out of it, so she could stop being Supergirl for as much as she needed now. Supergirl had been attacked by a mob of white terrorists on the ground of the Capitol of the United States. She had been ambushed by the very people she had once wanted to protect, to preserve their lives – as thanks for her role as Supergirl; she had been swarmed because she had tried to stop them endangering the lives of innocents. She didn’t want to be Supergirl right now. The blue of her suit ripped apart at her display of strength, her muscles flexing and bulging through her full sleeves as she tore through the bodice of the confines.

“I’m...” she heaved, ripping off the crest in one large piece of suit debris. “I’m bulletproof... Bullets can’t stop Supergirl.”

Lena came to her side, the cloth and disinfectant still in her hands as she helped Kara get free. She held the cloth tight at the largest trace of blood and held her firm at her back again, helping her to the sofa. With her free hand she helped pull off Supergirl’s boots until it was just Kara sitting with her in her underwear. “Hold that there while I get you something to sleep in, okay?”

“Hey, I’m okay.”

“Supergirl’s bulletproof, my love. But Kara Danvers got attacked with things other than bullets today,” Lena reminded her a little adamantly, but smoothing her off with another kiss at her temple. “America gets help tomorrow. Four-hundred and thirty-five House Representatives, one-hundred Senators, a President-Elect and a Vice President-Elect can help America...”

“Lena.”

“ _They_ can help America,” she hammered, holding her lover across her chest as she lingered on the arm of the sofa. “I’m going to help my wife,” she finished, kissing Kara again, as if she would never stop before leaving for the bedroom, going for Kara’s pyjamas in an effort to start the healing process. America had that and the Justice Society as its watchmen patrolling the grounds of Capitol Hill now. Kara had Lena, and Lena was adamant. She was an iron as the pen that signed it. Kara lay back, holding the cloth to her side and trying to cast off the shackles of the afternoon. Outside and on the television, she began to hear the chants of a people different to those who had attacked her, who attacked the very democracy of her homeland.

_We will survive Forty-Five. We will survive Forty-Five. We will survive Forty-Five. 25 th the Forty-Fifth! 25th the Forty-Fifth! 25th the Forty-Fifth!_


End file.
